Not Fit for Human Consumption - A Tom Hiddleston Fanfiction Oneshot
by sherekahnsgirl
Summary: Tom comes home from filming High Rise expecting an enthusiastic reception from his lover. That is far from what he actually gets. Angst, Fluff, Care Taking, Feels, Depression, Glimpse of a Loving Dom!Tom


A/N:

This is PERFECTLY SAFE FOR WORK, unlike almost every thing else I've written.

There is NO SEX WHATSOEVER in this story.

Which means 99% of you will skip this, which is fine.

I had one of these days myself not long ago, and I wondered how Tom would react to his lover feeling that way.

Vague mentions of offing herself that she really doesn't mean. Nothing serious there at all.

Angst, Fluff, Care Taking, Feels, Depression, Glimpse of a Loving Dom!Tom

 _Just collecting my luggage and then I'm heading straight home to you, darling_.

No.

 _No_?

Not today. Maybe tomorrow.

 _Not today what_?

Can't see you. Not good time.

Tom shook his head at his phone. What could she possibly mean by that? He'd been in Northern Ireland for weeks and she'd only been able to get over there once, just about in the middle. He was ravenous for her, and him getting home to her and ravaging her in the entry way of her apartment was about all they'd been talking about for the past month.

It was taking forever to get his bag, so he decided to call her instead, and the call went straight to voicemail, which was ridiculous. He knew she probably had the phone _in her hand_. As he frowned down at the contraption, certain there was some sort of technological snafu explanation, he got a text from her.

Don't call. Don't come. Not today. Call u later. XO

For a long moment, he wondered if someone else had gotten hold of her phone - he'd never known her to use so many monosyllabic words or short, declarative sentences, ever. She was verbose in the extreme, even when texting - just like him.

And she'd never once flat out told him _not_ to come see her. Oh, she'd tried when she'd been sick, but she'd talked his ear off - in that cute, stuffed up accent of hers - in the attempt.

He was so thrown by their exchange and her cryptic answers that he didn't even think of mentioning to her that they didn't have the kind of relationship where she got to tell him what to do, or even, for that matter, "no".

It wasn't a word he enjoyed hearing from those beautiful, full lips of hers that just the thought of had him nearly creaming in his pants.

When he finally saw his luggage, he plucked it off the conveyor belt at the same time he stuffed his offending phone into his front pocket and stalked to long term parking, worry darkening his usually sunny countenance.

She knew who was knocking but she had no idea what it was that she could have done differently to get him to leave her the fuck alone.

She was unfit for anyone's company right now - most definitely his. And she was not dressed to receive - baggy flannel pajama bottoms, a ratty, oversized t-shirt that read, "You _drank_ Ian?!" in a beautiful, old fashioned script - because, as she'd told him when she'd shown him the t-shirt that that was how she thought all of Adam's words should be written - and the top half of an entirely _different_ pair of flannel pajamas because she couldn't be bothered to do laundry when she felt like this. Her hairstyle wasn't bed head, it was _under_ -the-bed head. She hadn't brushed her teeth or showered this morning, and she frankly didn't give a shit whether she ever did either of those two things - or much of anything else - ever again.

Well, she thought, looking around her as tears began to flood her eyes yet again, it wasn't as if she'd thought they were going to last long, anyway. Hell, she'd had more than her fifteen minutes in the pool with him - they were shortly going to be going on a year together. That was three hundred and sixty four more days than, at the beginning, she would have bet they would have lasted.

As soon as he got a load of her, though, she was quite sure that an excruciatingly polite Dear Jane email, or whatever the female equivalent was when you dated so far above you that you were perpetually experiencing the bends and he finally comes to his senses and realizes the fact that he's slumming in the extreme.

His words were low and lightly scolding. "I have a key to this door, Elizabeth."

If she hadn't been in the kind of mood that made her want to scratch her eyes out rather than interact with _anyone_ \- _including_ him - she would have singsonged back, "And I have a deadbolt and a chain on the door, fool."

But she wasn't about to fight him - hell, if a murderer had been at her door, she'd've unlocked it just the same was she was now - for Tom - and begged the stranger to end it all for her.

It was one of _those_ days - the kind of day where she woke up crying for no discernable reason, and really had only been able to stop for short intervals since. Hell, he was _home_ \- she should have been beside herself ecstatic. She'd missed him horribly, and part of her knew how badly she was screwing things up by being this way.

But it was the only way she _could_ be, right now.

Instead, she wished she could flush herself down the toilet like the shit she felt like today.

He heard her removing the other locks and came in as soon as he could, closing the door behind him and putting his bags on the floor before advancing purposefully towards her.

She couldn't see him because her head was buried in her hands, her shoulders shaking as she wept as if someone had just told her she'd lost her whole family, his heart breaking at the sound of her misery as he strode towards her, those long arms wide open to pull her to him and surround her with his love as it was on the tip of his tongue to let her know that, whatever the problem was, they'd face it together.

He hadn't counted on her taking two steps back for every one he took forward, her moist hand abandoning her even moister cheek to hold it out in front of her as if to ward him off, however ineffectually. "Go away."

Her voice was . . . like nothing he'd ever heard from her before - such a deadly quiet whisper he could barely understand what she'd said, completely devoid of emotion and delivered as she practically cringed away from him as if he was going to hurt her.

That idea brought him up short, despite the deep ache in his chest he could barely ignore that wanted him to drag her into his arms, regardless - he'd missed her so!

"Beth, honey, what's wrong? What's the matter?" He kept his tone soothing and cajoling, as if he was speaking to a scared child.

How could he ask her to explain the unexplainable? How it felt as if someone had draped an old, wet, musty blanket over her, as if she - herself, who she _was_ \- was being dampened, somehow, from within? He'd think she was crazy, and she wasn't so sure that was wrong herself. All she wanted out of her life at this moment was to be alone, to curl up into the smallest ball she could possibly make of herself, to pull the covers and the pillows and, hell, the mattress itself over her and sob her heart out until it was over.

She knew he truly loved her; everything about him dripped concern and she owed this wonderful man - who had every right to expect that she was going to greet him with unbridled enthusiasm, but who instead was standing there in front of her looking confused and almost hurt at her strange reactions to him - an explanation, knew she should have tried to tell him something, but it was just absolutely beyond her to do that, so she simply shook her head frantically and collapsed in on herself - all while ugly-crying, of course - not giving even the tiniest fuck whether she hit or broke or bruised anything on her way down to the floor, or even whether she died on the way there, which would probably be a blessing to everyone involved.

If not for his quick reflexes, she would have ended up in a graceless heap on the carpet at his feet, but he scooped her up into his arms well before she hit the ground and held her tight against him as she struggled - weakly - to get down.

"Shhhh, shhhh, shhhh, love." He began to rock the two of them back and forth where he stood. In a sudden flash of insight, he murmured, his lips at her temple as she tried to lean away from even that slight contact, "You don't have to talk to me if you don't want to, babylove. But I have a few questions and I want you to just shake your head 'no', or nod if it's 'yes' for me."

She was already shaking her head no and he hadn't even begun.

"I'm not asking, Beth," he cautioned firmly, feeling her stiffen at his words. "Did some kind of tragedy happen that I should know about?"

Her head went back and forth.

"Are you sick?"

She shook her head.

"Are you just feeling sad because you're feeling sad? I remember you telling me once that sometimes you got the blues, and that all you want then was to be left alone."

There was sudden, vigorous nodding as she burst into tears.

Again.

Still.

Yet.

Relief flooded through him. He could handle that. What he didn't like was the fact that she wasn't seeking comfort from him, but instead drawing tightly in on herself within the confines of his arms. His heart clenched painfully at the sight of her trying to burrow away from him somehow, like a frightened animal, but there was nowhere to go.

Tom took a deep breath and realized the place was a bit stuffy. He was a big believer in fresh air, and it was reasonably warm out, so he brought her to the front window and put her on her feet just long enough so that he could open it. She immediately tried to run away from him, but his arms were too long for her to escape him that easily, and he reeled her back in, clamping her tightly against his side.

When she tried to refuse to move into the bedroom, where he was going to open that window for a nice cross breeze, he simply lifted her from where she stood, expecting her to throw a hissy fit.

Her lack of response when he physically thwarted her intent - which she _always_ bitched about until he silenced her, one way or the other - was another cause for concern, but he pushed it to the side for the moment in favor of accomplishing what he wanted to for - and with - her.

Once the window was open, he lifted her again easily and brought the both of them to the side of the bed. But when he would have laid her under the covers, she put her hand out to stop him.

"No, T-Tom. You _h-have_ to go." Her words were still abnormally subdued, but a little firmer than before.

He gathered her to him, kissing the top of her head. "And we will have to have a talk - when you're feeling better - about the fact that you think you can tell me what I _have_ to do."

At his answer, she actively tried to fight her way out of his arms again, but he simply held her close until she could no longer move.

"You can't - you can't see me. Not like this." He could hear the tears building behind her voice again, knowing she was having to rip each word out of her mouth like tearing a band-aid off a particularly hairy spot, and there were unusual pauses between words. "I - I'm not myself. I'm not - fit company - for anyone - ' _specially_ not you."

He wanted to argue that point, but he had a feeling she wasn't finished.

"Please go," she begged, and he sincerely hoped he never had to hear those words - in that tone, particularly - from her again. He enjoyed making her beg in most situations, but not like this. "I'll - I'll call you - when I'm . . . when I'm better."

Tom understood what an effort it must've taken her to get all of that out, and he also knew he'd barely had a glimpse into how she was _really_ feeling.

But instead of leaving, or even just letting her go, he closed his arms even more tightly around her, laying his cheek on the curls at the top of her head. "I'm not like your family. I'm not going to get mad at you for feeling sad - I'm not disappointed in you, I'm not going to take anything out on you because you're feeling this way." He kept his overall tone quiet, but the next phrase was much firmer. "And I'm also _not_ going _anywhere_ , my love."

As he spoke, he tucked her under the sheet and duvet, following her down, shucking quickly out of his shirt and pants and joining her in just his boxer briefs, enfolding her into his arms again before she had a chance to roll away.

"I know you don't believe it in your heart yet, but you don't have to _be_ or _act_ any special way with me, sweetheart, ever." He felt her cringing at the endearment. "My love is unconditional - I love you when you have the flu, I love you when you're dressed to the nines, I love you when you wake up, with morning breath and bed head, I love you when I watch you as I join our bodies together and it makes your breath hitch and your eyes go wide every time." As he spoke, he brought the covers up and then completely over the both of them, forming a warm cocoon around them, and blotting out everyone and everything in the world but them. "You can hide away from the rest of the world and no one'll bat an eye. You can ignore the rest of the world and they'll ignore you right back. But you can't do either of those things with _me_." He pressed barely-there kisses to her forehead, then raised her chin so she had to look - through tears - into those gentle blue eyes of his. "Because I _see_ you. _All of you_. And I _love_ you. _All of you_. Nothing you could ever do - especially not something like this that you have no control over - could _ever_ make me love you any less."

She was sobbing worse than ever now, but at least she was no longer actively resisting him.

With one big hand rubbing her back and the other cupping the back of her head, cradling her cheek to his chest, long fingers buried in her messy curls, he whispered, "I'm _not_ going to leave you, whether you're laughing hysterically _or_ crying your eyes out. If you don't want me to hold you, I won't, but my arms are always here for you, and you alone. I'll always have a hug waiting for you whenever you want it, because I always want you in my arms, no matter what."

There were tears in his own eyes as he expressed the depths of his feelings for her, so he cleared his throat and whispered, "So I'm just gonna be right here, under the covers with you, in our own little world. You sleep if you want to, or just lie there - do whatever you want - whatever you _need_ to - and I'll be right by your side if you need or want a hand to hold or a shoulder to cry on. I won't ask anything else from you, I promise."

Then he added with a sly grin. "At least until you feel better."

He'd spent the previous very bad day spoiling and cosseting her terribly although she certainly never asked him to do any of it - after her little soliloquy she barely said another word to him the rest of the day. He spent his time making her tea and sharing his precious Hobnobs with her, letting her be rudely quiet around him without making her feel in the least uncomfortable about it, reading on his iPad as she slept and he watched over her, making sure she was warm enough, tucking the covers over her when she kicked them off, always there with a gentle smile when she awoke. He ordered her favorite Chinese dishes from her favorite place delivered to them for dinner because he didn't want to go out and get anything - worried she might not let him back in - then made sure she ate at least some of it, rubbed her feet and her back absently - completely of his own accord - and putting her favorite programs on the TV in the background, all comedies, hoping they might help to cheer her up.

But he recognized the fact that one of the most stark measures of just how blue she was was the fact that she never once laughed at any of them - not even _The League of Gentlemen_ or _30 Rock_.

Mostly, he was just . . . there. Unfailingly. Demanding nothing from her, but instead doing his best to try to anticipate her needs - holding her when she could no longer keep the tears at bay, not trying to stop her from crying but just giving her someone to cling to in the midst of the storm.

The next morning, she awoke the way she'd gone to sleep - within the infinitely safe confines of his arms, and the heavy fog seemed to have lifted off of her as if it had never been, which was often how it happened. Ever alert to her movements - even in the dead of night when she'd gotten up to use the loo, he'd gotten up, too, just to make sure she was ok and didn't need anything - Tom was instantly awake, hugging her to him as she tried to slink away, not because she was sad but just really not knowing what to say to him after he'd born witness to such a fiasco of a day.

In a way, despite how disgustingly wonderful he'd been to her, she heartily wished that he had just done as she'd asked and gone the hell away from her, because _now what_? What could she say to him after he'd seen her at her lowest - "Thanks ever so much for being masochistic enough to stay with me while I was acting in an entirely selfish baby and in an completely socially unacceptable manner? What are you, anyway, crazier than I am?"

He was certainly saintlier than she was.

"Where do you think you're going?" he growled low in his throat.

She could feel the heat of what she was sure was a thoroughly unbecoming blush moving slowly up her neck to spread over her face. "To the loo."

"Mmmm," he murmured, bending down to press his lips to hers, somewhat tentatively at first and then, when she didn't jump away from him, more aggressively. When she'd been thoroughly kissed, and left breathless as always, he pulled away the slightest bit, pressing his nose and forehead to hers. "Feeling better?"

Beth was horrified when hot tears ran down her even hotter cheeks, but Tom just hugged her closer. Worried he'd think she was still down, she sputtered, "Y-yes, yes, I am," and tried to brush the tears away.

"She says, tears dripping down her face," he teased softly, drying them with his thumbs, as he'd done so many times yesterday.

She cupped his cheek and met his eyes. "No, I am. Truly. Much better."

"I'm so glad, baby." His lips met hers again, but then she ducked out from beneath them and pressed her eyes against his neck, hugging him for the first time since he'd gotten home, really.

Her heartfelt "thank you" was watery and barely audible, but she forged ahead anyway. " - for taking such amazing care of me when most men would have run away screaming."

"I'm not most men, my love. I'm _your_ man, and _nothing_ and _no one_ will ever keep me from you when you need me, whether or not you're able to recognize the fact that you do at the time."

Beth sighed. "What the hell did I do to deserve you?"

He frowned mock-seriously. "As I recall, you annoyed the crap out of me until I took pity on you and asked you out - ouch!"

She swatted him smartly on the shoulder. "Shut up, you fart, and kiss me."

His smile lit her world as he answered enthusiastically, "Yes, Ma'am!" and pressed her back onto into the mattress.


End file.
